


Graduation

by Macdragon



Category: Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:56:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdragon/pseuds/Macdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After graduating from the University, Peter Godwin is unsure what path his life will take.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graduation

Peter Godwin shifted back and forth in his chair, uncomfortable in the unseasonably warm spring day. The elaborate outfit his mother had chosen wasn't helping any. A million pearl buttons ran up the front, forbidding escape from the heat, and the lacy collar scratched his neck. Squirming and squinting in the sun, he glanced to his left. By virtue of the alphabet, he was sitting beside Henry Fremont. He put a hand on Henry's knee, squeezing gently. Henry shot him an exasperated look; unsure if it was about the ceremony or the gesture, Peter withdrew his grip. 

Turning his eyes back to the front, he searched in vain for his parents faces in the audience. His mother had been crying earlier, something about her "baby" being all grown up. It was true, Baby Godwin was no more. He was nineteen now, and had grown into the Godwin good looks. People said he was the spitting image of his grandfather. The thought sent a pang of grief straight into the pit of his stomach. How he wished his grandfather was here now! 

Don't cry, don't cry…He lowered his head, pretending that the sun was too bright. Never mind that he could see Lindley bawling a few rows away, happy as ever to bear his emotions on his sleeve. Peter was a man now, and he wasn't going to get all teary-eyed in front of all his University colleagues. Not to mention Henry.

One by one, the names were called. Blake was one of the first, followed by a large number of people Peter didn't care about. Finally Henry was called up, and Peter tried not to show how proud he was, but he knew it showed plainly on his face. Then, "Lord Peter Godwin, degree of Ancient History." The words that he had been waiting to hear for so long sounded unreal. His heart was pounding, his legs shaking as he rose and walked down the row to the podium. The odious Doctor Crabbe was standing there with his degree in hand, and Peter contemplated spitting on his shoes, but a young Lord didn't do such things. He accepted the certificate, murmuring his thanks, and returned to his seat. 

Just like that, it was over. 

Henry punched his arm affectionately, bringing him back to reality. "If it wasn't for damn Vandeleur, we could leave early," Henry grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes. Peter smiled weakly. No longer nervous about his own trip across the stage, the rest of the ceremony went quickly. 

At the end, his family hurried to surround him, shouting congratulations. It was practically the first time his parents had shown interest in his studies, except to complain about the objectionable content of certain lectures. He suffered their attentions as long as he could stand, then politely slipped out of the knot of well wishers. But his friends were nowhere to be seen, probably already fled to the Blackbird's Nest without him. 

***

The sun had vanished below the horizon by then, and Peter paid a link boy to light his way to the Blackbird's Nest. He still had his diploma tucked under his arm, a badge of honor. The tavern was full to bursting with graduated students and their friends. Peter spotted Lindley first, deep in conversation with a group of his Northern cohorts. Then he saw Henry and Vandeleur, sitting at their usual table, both holding a mug of beer and talking animatedly. Justis Blake was likely with Marianne, who was pregnant with their first child. As far as he knew, she was about to pop, but Peter found it difficult to remain interested in such things. It was probably just as well that Justis wasn't there, because then he'd have to hear about it, even if his friend's absence was a striking reminder of the changes to come after tonight.

Peter squeezed onto the bench beside Henry, their shoulders brushing."I'm surprised you could escape your family," Henry said.

"They'll see plenty of me at the party tomorrow," Peter answered, picking up Henry's beer mug and taking a sip. "I told them I wanted to spent my last night with my friends…"

"Does this mean you're paying for all of our drinks?" Vandeleur quipped. 

"This time I will, but you'll all have to get steady jobs soon, now that you're not students," Peter said teasingly. 

"You should all hire us!" Vandeleur said, laughing. Peter chuckled gamely, but the comment left him cold, and Henry looked like he had just swallowed a lemon. Were his friends already so conscious of their different positions in life? 

Henry nudged his side. "Go get your own drink, then, and bring us another one."

Peter did so, and when he returned to the table, the conversation had returned to normal. He became unaware of time passing. Eventually Lindley wandered over, abandoning his northerners for a while. Vandeleur was flirting with a girl at the bar, and Henry took the opportunity to step outside for some air. Lindley smiled and shrugged, sitting down beside Peter. 

"I'm sorry," Peter said, feeling the need to apologize for Henry. "He should have forgiven you by now, for…whatever you did."

"It's all right." Lindley said, twisting one of his braids between his fingers. "He's jealous, too, you know. I don't think he likes that we're friends."

"I don't care," Peter said, too forcefully. "I'll be friends with whoever I want. I don't answer to anyone about who I spend my time with…not Henry, not my family."

"Your family?"

Peter realized that he had said too much, but he went on anyway. "Lindley, I'm serious." He clutched Lindley' sleeve, suddenly struck with an awful sense of urgency; it was probably the beer, but he didn't care about that either. "I don't want to stop seeing any of you just because I'm going to be on the Hill now. Especially Henry." 

"Of course not." Lindley's blue eyes were kind and serious, and reminded Peter oddly of the look his grandfather used to have, when he was really listening. 

"This used to all be a game for me," Peter continued on, compelled to spill everything to his friend. "Coming to University in the first place, and everything with Doctor St. Cloud…" He thought that Lindley might have winced, and he regretted saying that, "But I'm older now, and it's different. I don't hunk I know the rules anymore."

"I know about playing games," Lindley said. "We're alike that way…always caught between two worlds, but never quite fitting in with either."

"Yes!" Peter lifted his mug in agreement, and beer sloshed over the edge. It seemed to break the moment of seriousness. He looked up and saw Henry milling about nearby, impatience etched across his face. 

"I'll leave you to it," Lindley said, patting his shoulder. "Good luck."

As soon as Lindley moved away, Henry strode over and took his place. "What did the redheaded fool want?"

"Nothing, he was just saying hello."

"Surprised he deigned to leave his northerners to do so," Henry said archly. 

"Well, we see more of him than we do of Justis these days, even with the northerners," Peter retorted.

"Hmm." Henry was obviously not really thinking about Lindley; he brushed his fingers down Peter's throat, then pinched a piece of lace between his fingers. "That looks uncomfortable. Let's go home, and get you out of it."

***

Peter woke early the next morning, a little hungover and reluctant to leave the comfort of Henry's bed. But he had the party to get to, and his mother would be expecting him for breakfast beforehand. Henry growled something incoherent as he slipped away, but otherwise didn't wake, and Peter set about the task of putting his outfit back on. He tied up his hair and was out the door in a few minutes. 

Back at his house on the Hill, he was greeted by Rosamund, better known as Rosie. Ostensibly, she was his hunting dog, because men didn't have "pets," but she still had the nature of a puppy and had never pointed him towards a duck in her life. She yipped and jumped up, getting gray fur everywhere. He gave her a good scratch behind the ears and then started up the stairs to his room, treading quietly in case his parents were still asleep. 

In his room, he ran a bath for himself, not bothering to call a servant to do it for him. Several years as a University student, not to mention many days and nights spent in Henry's cramped quarters, had gotten Peter used to taking care of himself. Sometimes being waited on was nice, but other times he preferred being left alone. 

After washing and dressing, he went back downstairs to the family dining room. His father was chattering on about something while his mother had her eyes on a book, nodding occasionally to seem as if she were listening to her husband. 

"Good morning," Peter said, pulling up a chair. His mother looked up instantly, a wide smile on her face. 

"Ah, so you finally decided to join us! Were you out all night?" she asked, pouring him a cup of chocolate from the silver pot. 

"I just got back an hour ago," he told her, gratefully taking the delicate china cup. He thought fleetingly of Henry, drinking alone from a tin mug in his drafty apartment--but that was absurd, his lover would still be asleep. There was no point dwelling on it in any case. 

"A normal schedule will take some getting used to now that you're not a student anymore," his mother remarked lightly. Peter tightened his hands around the warm cup, holding back a sigh. 

"My friends may be professors soon, too. None of us will be up late," he told her wryly. She looked annoyed for a moment, but quickly schooled her expression back into cheerfulness. 

"What your mother is trying to say," his father interrupted before she could answer. "is that you'd better start spending more time on the Hill, insetad of with your scholars. You have duties to attend to, son."

He was too tired to have this fight right now. "Can you pass the toast, please?" 

***

After breakfast, he returned to his room and slept until one of the servants came to wake him and help him dress for the party. The servant was preceeded by Rosie, who managed to leave fur all over the outfit his mother had laid out, delaying the dressing process. By the time he was ready, the party was due to start in a manner of minutes. Peter rushed down to the banquet hall, ready to greet the first guests. 

Peter soon realized that no one particularly cared about his scholarship. Rather, they were interested in what he was going to do now that he wasn't a scholar--or more specifically, who he was going to do it with. Gaggles of young eligible women were paraded past him, and Peter was soon occupied with trying to be charming. That was something he had never been good at. His mother told him he was too naive, that girls liked an air of mystery. She had tried to school him on flirting, but he found that especially hard when the true object of his desires was neither on the Hill nor female. 

And Henry didn't like flirting either. Two summers ago, when Peter came back from a summer in the country spent breaking his voice and losing his baby fat, his friend had made it more than clear what his intentions were. Henry Fremont didn't have a romantic bone in his body but, Peter thought now as he attempted conversation with an overly perfumed blonde, that was proabbly for the best. 

"Whatever was the point of all that studying?" the girl asked, leaning forward so that Peter could easily see down the front of her low cut gown. He wasn't sure if it was intentional or not, but at least it distracted him from her vapidity. 

"The pursuit of truth," Peter said, giving her the truest answer he had. "I promised my grandfather years ago that I would follow my own path, so I did."

"Oh." She blinked her large blue eyes at him. Peter could see his mother across the room, making encouraging faces at him. He ignored her and bowed out of the conversation gracefully, going to get another glass of wine. 

Lord Condell, dressed in a bright blue jacket in the style of men twenty years his junior, was picking through the refreshments. "I have to watch my waistline, at this age," he told Peter candidly, eyeing a platter of chocolate truffles. 

"Why should you? It seems like it shouldn't matter to someone like you." 

Condell chuckled. "You have been spending too much time at University. It's given you quite a tongue."

"I'm sorry." Peter blushed, remembering that he was speaking to an elder, even if it was a rather silly one. He picked up a glass of wine and took a hasty swallow.

"Don't worry." Condell picked up a truffle and nibbled on it. "You couldn't possibly understand what it's like to get old, not at your age. I bet you're out carousing every night, with no thoughts of the consequences. Oh, to be nineteen again!" 

"I don't feel all that young," Peter said, knowing that his friends would laugh at him for saying that. "No one expects me to go back to the University. I guess I'll have to settle down now."

Condell shook his head. "Don't tell me that want you to get married?"

"Well, obviously."

"And is that what you want?" 

"I don't know. Not really." Peter dearly hoped that this conversation wouldn't get back to his mother, but it felt good to unburden his troubles. "There are…things, that I don't want to leave behind for marriage."

"Oh, I think I understand. You wouldn't be the first noble to indulge in other 'things,'" Condell winked at him. "You should do what you want. What's the point of being a noble, otherwise?"

"Thank you for your advice," Peter said weakly, unable to think of anything better to say. 

"I'm always happy to help. Now, I should go rescue Davy from old Lady Grantham, don't you think?" Condell patted his shoulder and sauntered away, popping the rest of the truffle in his mouth as he went. Spotting his mother walking towards him, Peter hurried off to ask the blonde girl for a dance. 

***

"You'll never believe what Lord Condell told me at the party," Peter told Henry a few days later, when they were curled up together in bed. 

"I'm sure I won't." Henry yawned and leaned back against the pillows, and Peter scowled.

"It involved you."

"Oh?" Henry's voice was casual, but Peter could feel the tension in his body. 

"Not directly, I mean. Condell was just hinting that I shouldn't give up any of my other lovers for marriage. He said I wasn't the first. It's true, you know. Everyone knows about Condell and Davy, and of course there's Tremontaine…maybe I should become a mad noble myself."

"I don't think you'd be very good at that." Henry smiled indulgently. 

Peter reached up and a smoothed a lock of dark hair back from his lover's eyes. "Aren't I already a little mad, falling in love with you?"


End file.
